


Black Sky Dreams

by thetreesgrowodd



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dreams, Gender Issues, Healing, M/M, Secret Relationship, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-30
Updated: 2011-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-20 14:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetreesgrowodd/pseuds/thetreesgrowodd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry comes to the Weasley family for the summer, traumatized, neglected, and craving the healing environment of the Burrow. He needs Ron most of all, with an intensity that bewilders him. Ashamed, Harry keeps his feelings hidden. But Ron is keeping confusing secrets too, and his recurring dreams are trying to tell him something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clean

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and partially posted in 2001, when only the first four Harry Potter books were out.
> 
> POV switches between Harry and Ron with each chapter.

"Tell me — what's it like being the most eligible bachelor in the school?" Fred asked.

Ron laughed around a mouthful of toast and banged his goblet on the table.

I gave them — and Fred, although he hadn't done anything yet — a dirty look. It's not my fault if girls keep hanging around me. It's probably just because I'm famous, or because I'm a Quidditch player, it's not like I'm trying to get them to notice me. And I hadn't been interested in any of the people who had asked me out yet.

"It's getting ridiculous!" Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly. Some third year girl I don't even know came up to me yesterday and handed me a love letter to deliver to Harry! She was too embarrassed to do it herself."

Fred waved it off. "Harry's been breaking ladies' hearts for years now. That's old news."

"You know we've always followed your career closely. We've taken a keen interest in it," George said, nodding.

"Career?"

"We hear that now you're shooting down the hopes of bright-eyed young lads as well," Fred began, looking concerned.

"Where did you hear that?" I asked.

"Harry, Harry, we hear everything."

"Ron," I guessed, and brandished my wand at him. "You know, I've been saving a certain nasty jinx for Malfoy, but I could always use some practice."

"Alright, alright!" Ron held up his hands defensively. "I won't mention The Incident again! But they would have found out anyway!"

The Incident, as they had called it, happened just a few days ago. A third-year Ravenclaw boy came up to me and confessed that he had a crush on me, right in the middle of breakfast, in front of everyone. My face still felt hot at the memory of it. Maybe he'd done it as a joke or on a dare or something. But he had seemed sincere.

"The girls are bad enough, but what was that boy thinking? That Harry would go out with him?" Hermione flipped her hair. "Come on!"

"Yeah right." I tried to laugh it off. There are some things my friends don't know about me yet... things I'm not very clear of, even in my own mind.

"We're a mite concerned that none of these lovelies were pleasing to you, Harry," George said.

"We just want you to be happy. So then, who do you like? We'll give her — or him — a nudge in your direction."

"Er... nobody specific," I said, on the spot.

"Well, what type do you fantasize about then? Blonde? Brunette? Asian?"

"I don't know."

The twins sighed in unison.

"Harry, Harry. So innocent. So uncorrupted." Fred shook his head.

"Let's hope we get a chance to work on him this summer," George said, clapping me on the shoulder.

 

We studied so late that night that when Ron and I went to take showers, we had the bathroom to ourselves. I stripped quickly and took the empty shower next to Ron's. Showering with him had gotten a little uncomfortable recently, but I pretended like it hadn't. I didn't look at him, just leaned forward and closed my eyes, letting the water drench my hair and warm my body.

What was the big deal? We'd been doing this for years now. When we were younger, I'd hardly thought twice about it. I'd just been so grateful to have such a good friend by my side all the time. It had been fun. But now, being alone with him was weird sometimes.

I shampooed quickly, trying to get the shower over with. Maybe I could beat him, and we wouldn't have to get dressed together.

I wish the uncomfortableness was gone and we could go back to how we used to be, when being naked with my best friend hadn't meant anything.

Either that, or that the situation would go the other way, so that being naked together would mean something...

No. I stuck my head under the spray of water, banishing the thoughts. I had to get out of that room. I shut off the water, but just as I did I heard the squeak of another faucet next to me. I reflexively turned to look and saw Ron staring at me, looking just as surprised as I felt. We had inadvertently finished our showers in unison.

I quickly grabbed a towel and wrapped myself in it, trying to get the image of Ron, dripping wet and staring at me out of my head. We didn't say a word until we were back in our dorm room in our pajamas, safely in our own beds with the privacy of darkness.

If anyone knew what I think about my best friend...

"Harry," Ron said softly.

"Hmm?"

"Why don't you take up some of those girls on their offers? I mean, they're practically throwing themselves at you. Lucky bastard."

"Hmph. You think I should?"

"Yeah, why not. It'd make everybody so jealous."

"I dunno. They just all seem so... giggly," I muttered. Why couldn't they just shut up sometimes?

"They're giggly over you." Ron said.

"Yeah. Yeah, exactly."

"You've got your eye on that Ravenclaw Seeker, don't you?"

I sighed. It was true, there was definitely something about Cho. An attraction to a girl. Fantasies, sometimes.

But other thoughts came into my mind, late at night.

Ron, Ron was right there.

The intensity of my feelings for Ron fluctuated. Sometimes it seemed like Ron was all I could think about, and sometimes Ron was just my best friend. But the feeling was always there. I'd ignored it, worried about it, tried to reason it away, obsessed on it. But usually I came to the conclusion that I was just mixing up friendship and attraction. I'd had such an isolated childhood, then suddenly I'd had a best friend that I spent nearly every moment of the day with. I'd gone from one extreme to the other, so it made sense that I'd be a little confused.

So I said, with a wry tone, as if he had figured out my secret, "Yeah, I guess."

"You're hoping she'll ditch Diggory for you. Sheesh. You Seekers."

"Yeah little... maybe. I don't think about it."

"Harry!" Ron moaned. "You should be thinking about these things!"

"Er... sorry?"

"You know... what she looks like, what you'd like to do to her..."

"Yeah," I said vaguely, ready for the conversation to end.

It was true I thought about those things. I couldn't help staring at girls sometimes, often the unlucky Hermione because I was around her so often, not because I was particularly interested in her. It was just that her body, especially when she had first started to develop, the shape of her small breasts under her clothes fascinated me. I don't think she ever knew I was looking, I just couldn't help it — the way they moved when she ran, or the telltale outlines of bra straps visible through her clothes, or the slight bulge of her nipples when it was cold. It surprised me, sometimes. They looked soft. That meant I was straight, didn't it? I like breasts, I want to touch them.

But there was that day in Quidditch practice... it was blazing hot in the sun, and Oliver had just finished demonstrating several moves. He was talking to the team, floating on his broom in front of us. He whipped off his robes and wiped his sweaty face with them, before flinging them aside. He had on a snug white t-shirt underneath and it clung damply to him. As he gestured energetically, I completely lost track of what he was saying. I was so distracted by his lean, flexible torso, the movement of his muscles. For the first time in my life, I was noticing the grace and beauty of the male body, and it was shocking and distracting. I hope no one noticed that I was staring.

"You do... think about those things... right...?" Ron prompted.

"Yeah... of course I do," I said, giving him the answer he wanted to hear.

Ron flopped back into his pillow audibly. "You really needed brothers to get you going down the right path. I hate admitting it, but the twins were right. The way you're ignoring these girls, they've got to be wondering why you don't like them. They're gonna start saying you're gay or something, and you don't want them saying that. Once that rumor gets out, they'll stop even trying to get your attention."

I was silent. I didn't know what to say.

"You don't want that to happen, right Harry?"

"Right," I said.

Ron let out a loud breath. "You should say yes to the next girl, even if you don't like her. Ok?"

"Yeah."

"Too bad it's so near the end of term and the Final Task and all, there won't be time."

"Yeah."

"Good night Harry."

"Good night Ron." Relieved the conversation was over, I rolled over and tried to sleep.


	2. Black Sky, Silver Clouds

It all started with a dream. It came three weeks into my uneventful summer, three weeks I'd spent lying around and exchanging owls with Hermione (we were both worried about Harry) but still doing nothing in particular. Now I'm not the type that pays much attention to dreams, but this one grabbed me and wouldn't let go. I woke far earlier than I normally would have, to pale sunlight streaming in the window and the dream in my mind as clear as day.

I could feel the armor - I'd been some kind of warrior, carrying a spear, big poofy feather in my helmet and all of that. I felt strong, confident, but I was searching. I was near this lake at night, it was kind of cold but refreshing too. The sky was starry and I could hear frogs and the air smelled sweet. I knew somebody I was looking for was there. Then suddenly there she was and I was hugging her and she was leaning against me and laughing, not because anything was funny, but laughter of joy. She smelled so good and was so soft and warm and had this pretty long dark braid that was silky in my fingers and I was just so bloody happy to have found her. I felt good when I woke up too, I still felt the dream so strong, and I loved her. I rolled over and went back to sleep and even when I woke up a few hours later I still remembered the dream which is weird 'cause I never remember dreams. Believe me, I am not into romance. At all. I don't think about it. Well, I'd have to admit to a fair amount of thinking about girls and, well, sex, but I'm 15, what do you expect? But not this mushy, warm stuff.

I went down to breakfast still feeling good. Mum doesn't care if I sleep till noon in the summer. She's relaxed like that. I reckon after raising so many boys, she's decided to pick her battles. She served me some porridge and told me she had just owled Dumbledore about Harry coming here for the rest of the summer.

"I don't like the sound of those muggles he lives with," she said with a bitter frown.

I agreed but I knew better than to tell her everything I've heard about them. If she knew they'd locked Harry in a cupboard for most of his childhood, I reckon she'd go turn them all into monkeys or something. Mum just loves Harry, and he could really use a mother to look after him right now. And the rest of us to cheer him up.

 

It was a little over a week before we got Harry, though, and I dreamed about that girl every night. Well not about her exactly. That was the problem. I dreamed that I was looking for her, but not finding her. In all sorts of weird places, muggle shops and a forest and an old castle and a train. Sometimes I'd ask people and they gave me weird advice, sometimes I just had a sense that she might be there. But I never found her and I woke up disappointed each time because every time I was positive I was going to find her.

Can you imagine how crazy it made me to have that same dream over and over? I didn't know people really did that! I thought that was just some dumb dramatic idea in books or something that mental people did.

I asked Mum why she thought a person dream the same thing over and over. She's actually good with that kind of stuff, but I sure as hell wasn't going to tell her the romantic part of it. Or that I was thinking about that girl an awful lot during the day too.

"I imagine it's your subconscious working out a tough problem," she told me. "What are the dreams about?"

"I'm sort of like a warrior...," I blushed after saying that, "and I'm looking for somebody I used to know, in all these places, but... no luck..."

She smiled. "That person probably represents some part of yourself that you don't understand or that you're looking to express. And the warrior is another part of yourself that needs it." She sipped her tea.

It made sense I guess but I had no idea what the girl in the dream represented. Afraid Mum would push it and I'd further embarrass myself (I was just glad the twins hadn't overheard) I dropped the topic.

Harry came to stay with us that night. Quiet and with dark circles under his eyes, but a sort of relief and comforted look on his face anyway. I felt more like myself than I had in weeks. We were all at home with him immediately. Harry's like one of us. Of course, Mum fretted over him and fed him huge meals, but I think that's what Harry needed just then.

I overheard, totally by accident, Harry offering Mum some money to pay for the cost of us having him this summer. It was late the first night and Mum was still up, reading. Harry had slipped out of my room to go to the bathroom, or so I'd assumed. I'd gone out to get some juice, only to hear voices.

"Oh, dear, don't worry about that!" Mum said.

"But, er, it's no problem for me... my parents left me all of this and... I'd feel better if..."

"Harry, dear," she said gently, "I know you haven't seen it much, but people do things for people they care about, and they ask for nothing in return. Just having you here is enough."

 

Mum fretted over Harry's too-big clothes a lot too. He had a whole trunkful of new clothes - new to him anyway, but really just the most recent batch that Dudley had quickly outgrown. They were ridiculously big.

After a few days of watching Harry's tee shirts slipping off one shoulder or him cinching in absurdly huge shorts with belts and still having to pull them up all day, she got his trunk and her scissors and sewing kit and wand and went to work. After throwing in a few of the twins' old things (I'm too tall for them now) and getting rid of some of the most hideous of Dudley's things, Harry was all set and looking almost normal.

Honestly, the way she fusses over him! The next Saturday she declared to be haircut day. That's not uncommon for us at all, but I think she really just wanted to get at Harry's head, since none of the rest of us were looking too overgrown. I don't think Harry'd had his cut in a while, it was in his eyes in the front and touching his shoulders in the back.

One by one she draped the cloth around us and snipped away. She's actually quite good at it. Ginny insisted on just a trim and her bangs done, since she's growing hers out. When Mum was done with all of us, there was an awful lot of black hair on the floor with all of the red, and it looked really funny to see it. But Harry was looking loads better. His hair was back to sticking out in its normal way, and his eyes were clear. He looked more like himself.

 

One warm night after a huge dinner, we were sitting around lazily for a while, and Harry surprised me by saying, "Ron, let's go for a walk?"

Mum caught my eyes immediately. She'd already given me the 'Harry may need to talk and you known how hard it is for him, so be a good friend and listen and help him open up' lecture before Harry arrived. As if I needed it. Harry's my best friend. And it had killed me to see him go through everything he had, never shedding a tear where most people would have fallen apart totally. Harry hardly talked to me about his problems. I reckon he doesn't know how to, or doesn't think he can, after so long with the Dursleys.

We went out into the evening. Frogs and crickets sang, and the last bit of daylight turned the westward trees and hills black. A few stars were already out.

Without warning, Harry let out a whoop and sprinted off through the tall grasses of the hills behind my house. He did a sort of imperfect but graceful cartwheel. I grinned. Totally nutters. How could he do that on such a full stomach? But he must suddenly have felt free and it was contagious. I took off after him - damn he was fast - keeping an eye on his yellow t-shirt and black hair.

I caught him only when he had settled down in the high grass at the peak of a small hill. I plunked down next to him and leaned back on my hands, out of breath. "Nutters!" I panted. He grinned hugely at me and I was glad. He was OK enough to smile like that - a genuine smile. That was better than I had expected.

I settled in, waiting to hear about Cedric and Peter Pettigrew and You-Know-Who (he would insist on saying the name!) and that new scar on the inside of his right elbow... I braced myself. But he just picked a long blade of grass and braided it around his fingers.

More stars appeared now, lights shone warmly in a few windows far out below us. The night air cooled slightly, but the earth under us still radiated the day's heat pleasantly. Harry sighed and leaned back into the grass, hands behind his head.

"Are you OK, Harry?"

He considered the question. I stared at the horizon to give him that much privacy, if he needed it.

"I reckon I'm just about as 'all right' as it's possible for me to be right now," he said, picking his words slowly. "Which isn't very 'all right,' but not very bad either."

It made perfect sense to me, so I nodded. "Why did you want to come out here?" I looked at his face.

He looked back at me and said simply, "Because it's nice."

I laid back beside him and studied the sky. Some silvery clouds were sort of framing a sliver of a moon.

It smelled nice, like plants and earth. Harry carried a familiar sort of scent on him too. You could have asked me, sometime that Harry wasn't around, what he smelled like and I would have had no idea and probably thought you were daft for asking me that kind of question. But now he was here, and I could smell it. It was so nostalgic. I realized I had missed it. I had missed him.

"I'd missed you over the summer," I said in what I hoped was a light voice.

"I missed you too."

"Hermione and I were really worried about you. Almost wore out Pig with our letters..."

"I was worried about me too," he said in a soft voice, and there was no conceit in the statement. God, things had been so rough on him, and he'd been all alone there at his horrid Uncle's house. "But," he said with more force, "I'm better now. I don't want all of you worrying."

Of course I wouldn't be able to stop worrying, but I didn't tell him that. I think he knew it as well as I did. I had the feeling that we were thinking along the same lines at the moment. I had an urge to take his hand and clasp it strongly, a gesture of being united, to show him that I was here, I guess, but I didn't do it. I didn't know how he would react.

Something of all of this made me feel like my dream, and it hit me like a lightning bolt that Harry was just like the girl in my dream. He smelled the same, and just felt the same. I felt the same. Was Harry the person I had been trying to find? And if he was... then it meant I loved him like I loved the raven haired girl?

I lay there, trying to sort all of this out, and very aware of his presence at my side. I wanted to say something to him about it, but if I opened my mouth right then, who knows what might have poured out. I was scared I would overwhelm him.

So I just enjoyed the time there with him. We didn't need to say anything right then. We don't always have to be talking to be connected. I thought of the weeks ahead. I would play it by ear, I resolved. And if I figured it all out better, if the opportunity to tell him came — to tell him that I loved him — I would take it.


	3. Changed

The Burrow was everything that my aunt's house wasn't.

Aunt Petunia's idea of keeping a clean house was to sterilize it completely. Air fresheners and lemon fresh and silence, everything lined up and parallel and at right angles, everything upright. Beige and generic and impersonal. Any sign of daily living, even a newspaper on an end table, was unacceptable to her.

Aside from the framed pictures of Dudley, it was as if she wanted any hints about the personalities of the people who lived there to be out of her sight. Maybe that makes sense though; they didn't want to know me, so maybe they didn't want me — or anyone else — to know them either.

But the Burrow was like no place I'd ever known before. It always smelled like food cooking, wood smoke and fresh air. Cozy, lived-in. I didn't realize how much I'd missed it, how much I'd needed it, until I got there. They weren't slobs exactly — Mrs. Weasley actually kept up the house quite well considering how many people lived there — but even if there were dirty dishes about or laundry on the floor or loud noises in the dead of the night, or any of the other things Aunt Petunia would go into a tizzy over, it didn't make me feel unwelcome or uncomfortable.

The residents seemed to see their house as their personal canvas. Every inch of it was personalized, marked by their presence, the telltale wear and tear of a place where people have lived — really lived.

I examined an interesting crack in one of the walls, and Fred and George told me the tale of how they, as rambunctious eight-year-olds, created it. Mrs. Weasley overheard and acted annoyed about it, but she secretly liked it. I could tell. That scar was a mark of her family.

The Burrow was wonderfully, magnificently flawed. Real and physical and full of life. Just like the Weasleys.

Ron's mum was always hugging or patting someone on the back. His brothers wrestled and roughhoused and it was all for fun, not to hurt or intimidate. Ron even massaged my shoulders one time, but I froze up. I got so confused sometimes, I just didn't know what to do. Physical contact felt nice — Mrs. Weasley combing my hair to cut it, or the way Mr. Weasley would put his hand on my back, or Ron... any contact with Ron... but, I could hardly let myself acknowledge it. I ducked away sometimes because I didn't know what I was supposed to do.

You see, they actually liked having me here. And I could hardly get my head around it.

 

They introduced me to wizard novels that summer. If there was one consistent thing about the Burrow, it was that it was packed with all kinds of interesting things, like the bookcases with mismatched shelves packed with ratty paperbacks.

I didn't have much appreciation for books. I had associated them with being quiet and alone, or else with studying, the way Hermione uses them. These weren't those kinds of books at all. Instead they were filled with mad adventures and tales of spells so outrageous — cast by even more outrageous characters — that I couldn't wait to read the end. But the books wouldn't let me peek ahead to see what happened — the pages simply went blank if I tried.

I discovered that there was a curious delight in pulling out a book, only to discover another row of books hiding behind it, and another, and another, packed into a space too small to possibly hold them. Like mining a vein of gold. And that they were perfect when they were yellowed and the spine was cracked and the pages were threatening to fall out from being so well-loved.

But even better was the fact that, for the Weasleys, reading wasn't a solitary experience. Almost daily, they would spontaneously reenacts a favorite scene or dialogue from a book. Reading was a shared experience, experiencing certain stories was a rite of passage.

Our days were full and empty at the same time. There was so much time full of nothing — just reading or talking or watching sunsets. But I never felt bored.

I was learning little pieces of being human, though small, seemingly insignificant experiences, like sharing the simple appreciation of a good story with a friend. It might not seem like much, but it was, and it was good.

And at night I lay in bed and thought about the person sleeping in the bed next to me.

Sometimes my fantasies were daring, so daring it thrilled me. But I mostly just felt embarrassed. I mean, at school if I even walked by two students kissing in a quiet corner, I would blush and walk faster. But, wouldn't I also privately say to myself, 'Yes, that's it, that's what I'm looking for.'

He was what I was looking for.

But I was unusual enough. My life was complicated enough, without adding this as well. Besides, I liked Cho, didn't I?

 

One evening, Ron seemed a little restless. It had been a hot day and it was transitioning into a warm night. We hadn't gone out in days, at least not any further than within sight of the house. No one had said it, but I suspected there were charms and protections around their property, keeping me secret and safe and hidden. The Weasleys hadn't had any friends or neighbors around to visit, and when Mrs. Weasley recruited helpers to go to the market with her, I noticed she had never asked Ron or myself.

They didn't want word to get out that I was here. And that was fine with me. I didn't want to draw any attention or danger to the Weasleys, although Pettigrew certainly knew all about them and my friendship with Ron. I sensed that the household was quietly, secretly alert for an attack at all times.

But being cooped up seemed to be taking a toll on Ron. He acted a little strange sometimes.

So it didn't surprise me much when he plopped down next to me on the floor as I was writing to Hermione and said, "I have a crazy idea. Let's sneak out tonight!"

I stared at him, wondering if there would be a punch line. "Where?"

He pushed his ginger hair back from his forehead, an unconscious habit I'd been noticing more and more. "Remember the place I told you about? Mum and Dad don't know about it. There's a little stream and a huge tree. It's not that far, we could walk there in about fifteen minutes. Bill and Charlie dragged some old boards there years ago and put in a sort of platform, although they never did get around to building a proper treehouse. But it's cooler there, so it's a great place to sleep if you can ignore the frogs."

I twirled my quill, considering it. It sounded pretty tempting, actually. "Think we can sneak out without getting caught."

He grinned. "Yeah. Most likely."

"Should we tell the twins?"

He grimaced, good-naturedly.

"Never mind." I thought it over. "Actually... it sounds brilliant. Let's go." It might be dangerous to leave the protective spells. But, I reasoned, the Weasley household would actually be safer without me there, wouldn't it? Any danger would be coming after me not them.

So it was decided. We rolled up blankets and raided the kitchen for snacks. I put my wand in my pocket and zipped up a light hooded sweatshirt that several Weasley boys had worn before me. Under cover of darkness we snuck out. Feeling like a thief or cat burglar we ran into the wild area behind their house.

It felt great. I felt suddenly daring and elated at my freedom. I was free, not just from adults but from everything. I was just a kid sneaking out with my best friend for a little harmless fun. The sky was a deep blue, growing darker. Everything, the sensations, the smells, the sounds were stronger. A tickle on my face that might have been a bug, the tall grasses parting around my legs.

We made it without incident. After about 15 minutes of hilly paths we could hear the frogs at the creek. I followed Ron along it to a huge tree that stood alone. Ron and I climbed up the boards nailed to its trunk — one of them crumbled under his weight but he held on — and reached the uneven floor. The boards creaked, and some bowed, but they were sturdy enough. We swept the dead leaves off with our feet, spread out our blankets, and sat down.

Ron was right. This place was great. It made me feel alive.

The creek was gurgling and the frogs were croaking, just like in the "natural relaxers" cassette tape Uncle Vernon used to listen to sometimes. There were other quiet night sounds too. The air was pleasantly cool. And the stars... I stretched out. Even with the tree branches over us, I could see about ten times more stars than I could at my Aunt's house.

Ron lay back too, and for a time we were just comfortably quiet. There were no noisy siblings, no homework, no wireless, just us and nature. We lay in a place between reality and dreaming.

But we weren't ready to sleep yet. After a few minutes, Ron sighed a deep, contented sigh. He sat up and shared some of the homemade snacks with me out of his knapsack.

"We've been coming up here during the summer for years. Bill and Charlie knew loads of riddles, and they'd tell us all about different spells and what it was like at Hogwarts. As soon as they were back from school, they'd talk about it nearly non-stop. Us younger kids would wait for them to get back for the summer. It always made me want to go to Hogwarts so bad." The tone in his voice changed. "I never thought Hogwarts would be like it has been, though."

"It's not fair, is it?" I agreed, quietly.

"No. But I wouldn't give up on meeting you, Harry. Even for a life without You-Know-Who."

I smiled in the dark. "Thanks. Me too." That was all I could say. How could I explain to him how wonderfully sweet this nighttime was. He had grown up with all of this, the loving family, brothers as his best friends, could he understand how much it all meant to me? I felt such gratitude and appreciation for Ron right then, but was I really confusing friendship and love? Was my heart just amplifying the normal feelings that friends have for each other?

"Harry, I..." Ron began seriously, and I was somehow sure that I knew what he was going to say. He was going to tell me he felt the same way I did. I had wondered. I had watched and hoped for little signs that he might want me the way I wanted him. Sometimes I thought maybe he did. Like right now. My heart was pounding.

"Ron—"

"Uh, you know," he said, rather lamely, "it'd still be better if we knew each other without You-Know-Who being in the picture."

I'm sure that wasn't what he had been about to say. I made a noise of vague agreement.

"But... if my life were different, we might not have become friends," I said. Somehow, looking too closely at my past and what-ifs wasn't natural for me. "No, I think we would have, anyway. I would have found you," I said, quietly.

He was silent. I was almost sure he'd fallen asleep on me already, when he said, "Should we go to sleep now? We need to get up early and sneak back in."

"Sure," I said, settling myself as comfortably as I could, setting my glasses safely by my pillow. I could hear Ron settling down too. The minutes stretched out and the awkwardness between us faded.

"We would have found each other," Ron said, little more than a whisper.

Then I could hear his deep, sleepy breathing sounds he makes on the edge of sleep.

When I woke up the next morning, after peaceful dreams, I was changed.

Just... changed.


	4. Locked Inside Himself

"Stop monopolizing Harry!" commanded Hermione's letter. "I'm speaking on Ginny's behalf. She feels ignored and she doesn't know how to reach out to Harry. Give them a chance to be alone. And don't you dare tell either of them that I said this."

I glanced up at Ginny and Harry. Hedwig had just swooped in with three bulging letters from Hermione, one for each of us. On the sofa Ginny was giggling as she read hers. I rolled my eyes. It was a safe bet that the topic of her letter was Harry. Cross-legged on the floor next to me, Harry was reading his letter with a sober expression. That worried me.

"Seriously though," Hermione's letter continued, "it sounds like Harry is doing loads better. Your family is just what he needed. Well, keep up whatever you've been doing.

"And you can make fun of my 'Muggle Job' all you like Ron, but I am enjoying working in the library this summer. Yes the library. And yes I would like to marry it, you got that right. Oh honestly, why do I put up with you sometimes?

"Have a good summer and I'll see all of you in a few weeks.

"Love from Hermione."

 

It was a hot summer night. I was in the middle of a green, healthy sort of garden, full of vines looped madly over statues and pillars and stone benches in an artistic way. The smell from the flowers was sweet and made me feel light-headed. I heard rustlings to my side amid the soft sounds of the evening and held my breath.

A woman came toward me in the moonlight. Long black tendrils of hair had curled out of her braid. They moved as she walked, brushing her face like the flowers bobbing in the soft breeze. Her eyes were darker than the sky and playful and full of desire. Wordlessly she tugged at a ribbon near her neck and her light gown fell, fluttering, away from her. She was nude underneath. In a few gliding strides she had closed the space between us and my arms needfully wrapped around her. I felt so overwhelmed but so deeply content too. I stroked her silky hair over and over.

Then I woke up. In my dreams that summer I was always that muscular warrior with the square jaw and cleft chin, but when I woke up I was just Ron, 15, with ginger hair, no real muscles to speak of, and a slightly weak chin.

I stared at the dark ceiling, replaying the dream. I wished she was still there with me. I rubbed my face and ran my fingers through my sweaty hair. This dream had been intense but it was almost tame compared to some of them - a lot of them have gone way beyond me just hugging that girl. I just hoped I never talked - or make any other noises - in my sleep. What would I do if Harry heard?

I rolled over to look at the camp bed next to my bed. My best friend was sleeping on his side with one hand curled under his chin. I had watched him sleep a lot recently. I know I'd shared a room with him for years now, but that was with three other boys squabbling or laughing or snoring all the time. Here I could just concentrate on Harry. Sometimes I couldn't help but concentrate on him. There was an intensity about sharing my space with him, and just him. Very little was private.

I was worried that Harry would find out about my dreams. I know how weird this sounds, but the girl in my dreams is him. I felt the same way about him when I was awake as I felt about the girl when I was dreaming. I didn't know how to tell him. I thought it would scare him.

I turned my back to him then, trying not to think about how easily I could reach out and touch his lips.

 

Ginny, the twins, Harry and I were having lunch. Ginny had managed to get the chair next to Harry again. When she got up suddenly, empty glass in hand, she bumped Harry's elbow, sending a forkful of spaghetti into his lap.

Ginny stammered out an apology, wide-eyed and looking horrified as Harry picked noodles out of his lap. They were both blushing furiously. Sounding harried, he muttered, "It's ok, don't worry about it," to a still gibbering Ginny. "Better go change," he added.

As he stood and hurried to the stairs I saw that the sauce stain was right on the front of his pants. Ginny had knocked the spaghetti squarely onto his crotch. An amused grin passed between Fred and George.

Ginny sank back into her chair, staring, blushing, into her plate. A door closed upstairs and George rather casually said, "Good job, Ginny."

"That's one way to get Harry hot," Fred added.

"Not the one we'd recommend, mind you." George said.

Ginny gaped at them and they laughed. Even I had to join in.

 

"Hey Ron?"

I pulled myself away from a sort of mindless, peaceful daydream. Harry was to my right and a little below me, straddling a branch like it was his broomstick. We were up a tree, trying to find some relief from the summer heat and from the constant noise of the Burrow.

"Yeah?"

"Er... what do you think I should do about Ginny?"

I was caught a little off guard at his sudden seriousness. Harry doesn't usually talk about his problems. To tell the truth the same question had been worrying me. And I didn't have an answer.

"Hmm..." I frowned in a puzzled sort of way.

"Hermione says I should spend time with her. She says Ginny thinks I'm ignoring her." There was both frustration and guilt in Harry's eyes, green under the green leaves.

"Yeah, she told me off for not giving you and Ginny any time alone together," I said lightly. "But really Harry, forget what Hermione says, the important thing is, what do you think of Ginny?"

He shifted. "What do I think of her?" His face softened a little and he gave me a look of comical mock-fear. "That depends. Will the wrong answer result in me getting beat-up by one or more of her big brothers?"

I grinned. "No. Not me, anyway."

"Ok, I like her but..." he trailed off.

"You're thinking about Cho," I finished for him. He blushed furiously and stared at the branch in front of him. He hadn't really thought he was keeping his crush a secret from me, did he?

"Er... well I was going to say that I don't like Ginny the way she likes me, but, um, there is that too..."

"Well, do you think you have a chance with Cho?" I asked him, bluntly.

His face darkened. "Not really." He picked a leaf and fidgeted with it. "Maybe it just makes sense — me and Ginny. I'm with you guys all the time anyway. Ginny's nice and fun and I know how she feels."

"Well what if... what about someone else? Not those giggly girls at school, but someone else you were friends with already who liked you?" I asked him suddenly.

"Who?"

What if I told him right now? I mean how often does the conversation go in this direction so perfectly? My heart started to thump faster at the thought of it. "Um, I dunno," I said chickening out. "Just, what if there was?"

"I'm just so bad at this kind of stuff," he admitted, frustration in his voice. "Before Hogwarts I was never able to talk to girls at all. And at home it was just like you keep everything to yourself, you keep all this space between you and everybody else." He rubbed at his forehead, distractedly. "And I still do that. I still hold myself back like that; I can't help it. It's so weird to be here with your family, they talk about things and they hug and they're open, even if it's joking half the time. It's weird. I'm not making any sense am I?" he finished, miserably.

"No, you are," I told him. I've rarely heard him talk that much.

"I didn't mean your family is weird. It's mine that is, not yours. I'm just not used to it so it feels odd to me. I like it but I don't know how to react to it. Poor Ginny, I guess I would seem cold to her. I don't mean to."

We sat in silence for a while, me absorbing everything he had said. Harry was staring moodily into the canopy of green around us. I could just see the back door of the Burrow through a break in the branches. Ginny stepped outside and make her way over to our tree.

"She's coming over," I told him, quietly.

"What are you two doing?" she called.

"Getting away from Fred and George," I yelled back with a grin.

"Well that's going to be a problem then if you want to eat. Supper's ready!"

We climbed down. Ginny gave Harry a big, shy, pretty smile, and walked next to him to the house. I'm sorry Ginny. I hope I gave Harry the right advice.

 

The nighttime sounds of the forest surrounded me. I brushed aside a fluttering cluster of white-winged insects and moved on over gnarled roots and smooth rounded stones. She was ahead, I knew. I could feel her.

She emerged from between two embracing trees, graceful, her skin so white. I cupped her cheek. Her hair, as always, drew my hand. It was like feeling wind or swirling waters. Her voice was warm and sweet against my neck.

I blinked and when I looked back down I was holding a familiar boy in my arms. He had the same haunted look in his eyes and was just as lovely but with a timid sort of masculinity. I knew him, just as I knew her. They were the same. I traced cold fingers over his smooth neck.

I held him... or her... to myself tightly and then lead, holding a thin hand, to an underground passage. The walls were lined with ancient tile with roots that had broken through here and there. It smelled like clean earth and things growing. We were under the forest now, not away from it it, but part of it. I could feel it pulsing above and around us.

With the sort of logic that makes sense in a dream I told her, "I can't free myself from my armor." I was suddenly distressed at how tight it felt all over my body.

"You can," she told me. "Try again."

I made the slightest move to take off my armor and it fell away, because she had let it happen. I felt suddenly light and free.

She shed her clothes then and allowed me to pin her down into a nest of satiny soft pillows. I was desperate for her. She writhed beneath me and murmured my name. I twined my fingers in her hair. She was mine.

I woke with a rasping gasp. I was shaking all over with the intensity of the dream. Automatically I turned to look at Harry. His green eyes were wide.

"H-harry!" I choked.

"Ron, you ok?" he asked.

"Um," I rubbed my face, sure I was going to blabber something stupid. "Uh. It was just this weird dream. Er, I'll be right back."

I stood up and tripped on my sheets. I somehow got free and hurried out to the bathroom. I was only vaguely aware of how embarrassed I was. Mostly I was just thinking about the dream. I felt disoriented because of it.

When I got back I was hoping Harry would be asleep. Instead he was standing at the open window looking outside. His glasses were still on the table by my bed.

"Are you really all right?" he asked me.

I shut the door so our voices wouldn't carry to the rest of the house.

"Um, yeah. It was just this really vivid dream."

"Was it a nightmare?" he asked. Harry deserves the title of Nightmare Expert, especially after the past few years.

"No," I said, sitting down on my bed. "It was nothing. I'm ok now, really."

He nodded and sat down next to me. I felt dizzy. It had been him, HIM in my dream. Clearly him this time, I'd seen his face.

"Remember what we were talking about earlier?" he asked me. It took a minute for me to clear my head enough to remember and nod. "Well I was awake for a long time thinking," he went on. "And I reckon I should just tell Ginny - nicely - that I don't feel that way about her." He chewed on his lip a little. "Do you think it'll hurt her to much?"

"A bit," I said truthfully, trying to get my mind back around his problem. "But it's the right thing to do. Better for her in the long run."

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry if it seemed like I was being cold to her. I just didn't know what to do. Maybe she'll understand that if I tell her that. I've never... really been that close... to anybody. I think I want to, but instead I hold myself back." He looked at his clenched fists on his knees.

"So don't" I said.

"Don't?"

"Don't hold back. Just don't think about it." My heart was pounding. But who was I to tell him this when I'd been hiding my real feelings inside all this time?

"I try but I get all tense around people..." I could hear the pain in his voice.

My mind flashed then through a childhood of memories of wrestling with my brothers, of curling up beside Dad and reading books together, of Mum holding and rocking me when I was sad. Harry'd had none of that. I'd seen how his aunt and uncle looked at him. They'd locked him in a cupboard so they wouldn't have to deal with him. No one - except maybe his own parents when he was very small - had ever held him or made him feel loved. I hated his family right then. I hated them for locking Harry away inside of himself like this.

I swallowed, my throat dry and constricted, and moved closer to Harry. I put one arm around his shoulders loosely. "It's ok, Harry."

He looked like he didn't know what to do and awkwardly put both arms around me. I hadn't expected that. My heart started to pound and I pulled him against me in a real hug. I held on and held on, sure he would pull away. When he didn't I rested my chin on his silky hair. I felt overwhelmed with his nearness. He felt so good against me.

"Is this really ok?" he asked me, his voice muffled.

"Yes," I whispered.

He pulled away after a minute. I couldn't entirely let him go — my hands slid from his shoulders down to rest on his forearms. He looked at me with those haunted eyes and managed a ghost of a smile. I hoped he couldn't feel me shaking. Oh please don't let me ruin this.

"I do want to get closer to people and more open," he said with difficulty. "I want to... with you. However close you want to. I'll try."

"Really?" I whispered, not sure exactly how he meant it.

"Yeah."

"Ok..."

I slid my hands back up his arms. I stopped nervously at his shoulders. My fingers curled against the fabric of the t-shirt he slept in. I could feel his collar bones beneath. The look on his face was unreadable but he didn't move away from me or complain. Feeling like I was committing a sin by touching him I ran my fingers up the white, smooth skin of his neck and then cupped his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into it. The heel of my hand brushed his lower lip.

We stayed like that until I was able to speak again, shakily whispering, "Is this what you meant?"

"I reckon so..."

I moved my thumb over his lips, lightheaded. I felt like I was witnessing a miracle. I think I was. His lips were soft and so warm. They parted slightly and kissed my thumb, leaving a little warm moisture there. Oh God.

I took it as an indisputable invitation and I leaned in to kiss him. The first one was awkward. Our noses sort of smashed together. It was more of a tight-lipped press than a kiss. We both pulled back at the awkwardness of it and it had been too fast for me to get a sense of it.

But he came right back and everything fit together this time. Our lips felt hot and slick together. I felt his breath on my face. Something touched my lower lip timidly - his tongue - and I opened my mouth, surprised. The tips of our tongues met right between us and he made a tiny noise like a whimper or a giggle in his throat. I pulled him so close to me then, so tight against me. We slid our tongues together then swirled them around each other. He broke the connection to breathe deeply and I could feel his breath right against my chin and mouth. Then he latched onto my lower lip and sucked it, both hands mindlessly kneading at my chest. I thrust my tongue deep. He closed his lips and sucked it so hard it hurt. Getting bolder, he forced his tongue deep into my mouth demanding the same experience. I used the full length of my tongue to rhythmically stroke it hard against the roof of my mouth. He moaned.

We pulled apart finally, out of breath and silly and grinning, giving each other a few little kisses that met with teeth and smiling mouths. I laid back, grasping his tee shirt and tugged him down with me. We maneuvered ourselves into comfortable positions and I went to work on his neck. The skin there was so delicate and pale. His hand on my back was firmly pulling me closer. I kissed the base of his neck and traced the path of his jugular vein with a soft wet tongue up to his jaw. He exhaled loudly. I dragged my lips to his earlobe and sucked it into my mouth, fondling it with my tongue. He shivered and laughed slightly with wonder and surprise.

"Harry," I whispered. "I think I've been falling in love with you... these past few weeks..."

"Ron..." he drew his body closer to mine, curling his fingers against my chest, before confiding in me, "this is better than Quidditch."

I had to laugh at him. I might have been offended if I didn't know how passionate he was about Quidditch. I knew he was speaking from the heart not thinking about what he was saying, and that I had just been paid a very deep compliment indeed.

"You know what I mean..." he looked at me shyly. "I, um... I've been feeling the same way about you."

I shivered at the thrill of it. "I'm so glad. So glad, you have no idea how glad."

He kissed my neck slowly and I buried my hand in his hair. It was thick and luxurious and wonderful. When I stroked it, it stubbornly sprang right back into its wild disarray.

There was something I'd wanted to do for a very long time.

"Harry, can I touch your scar?"

I had to ask first. It was so personal, more personal than anything we'd just done. I was scared he'd say no. There were just so many memories and emotions and much pain connected to his scar. But he said yes quickly and laid back to give me better access to it.

I pushed his fringe aside looking him in the eyes. Still haunted as usual, but somehow more clear, he watched my every move patiently. I touched a fingertip to the scar and traced it down, hairline to eyebrow. I ran my finger over the length of it a few times then massaged it from side to side, from different angles, feeling the edges. I repositioned myself and repeated with my tongue what I had just done with my finger, rubbing his chest and belly with my hand. He felt so good under me. Suddenly I wanted to feel his skin, more skin. Desperately.

I grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and hiked it up a little, uncertainly. Harry seemed to know what I wanted because he sat up abruptly and somehow between the two of us we managed to pull it off over his head. I threw it at the floor but he was already at the buttons of my pajama top. My shaking hands started at the bottom and we met clumsily and fumbling in the middle. He pushed it back off my shoulders impatiently. His hands moved down my chest briefly before we pulled together hungry for the feel of skin on skin.

We fell back to the pillows. It was incredible. He felt so warm; I could feel his heat radiating from him. And he was so soft and when he moved against me I felt the lean muscles working. His chest swelled against me with every breath. My hand had his whole back to explore, his shoulders, his arms, his stubborn hair, the thrill of tracing the line where hot skin ended and the waistband of his shorts began.

We lay like that for a long time, not talking, not even thinking about going further. Not tonight. My head was already swimming, giddy, from everything. On and off I rubbed his back lazily, sometimes with a firm palm, sometimes just letting the tips of my fingers skim over him. His breath was warm against my neck. I was so comfortable, finally comfortable there with him. We fell asleep.


	5. Interlock

Professor Dumbledore's hair gleamed as he stood, goblet raised, to make his usual start of term announcements. The hall grew quiet.

"First of all I would like to inform you that filling the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher will be none other than..." Dumbledore gestured grandly to the empty chair at the teachers' table "Dobby the House Elf."

As Dobby's strange looking little head poked up from behind the table, I applauded politely along with the rest of the hall.

"Secondly, in response to many teachers' grievances regarding the students' use of profanity, a new anti-swearing charm has been cast over the entire castle. From now on the use of each foul word will earn the speaker one large, unsightly pimple, with whiteheads and blackheads reserved for certain — shall we say — more colorful phrases."

This announcement met with much moaning and complaining and a response from Fred and George Weasley that earned them matching blemishes on the nose.

"And finally, we all know the power of rumor. Since I hate to see them start and spread and grow, I will just simply announce some news to you now and save you all a lot of time and energy. Harry Potter..."

I blinked, shocked.

Next to me, my best friend Ron Weasley mouthed, "What now?"

"Yes, there you are Harry, would you stand up please?"

Confused, I stood, my cheeks growing hot as the faces in the room swiveled toward me.

"...and Ron Weasley, you too, right there next to Harry," Dumbledore continued.

Grumbling, Ron stood as well.

"These two fine young gentlemen," Dumbledore paused for dramatic tension. You could have heard a pin drop. "Are gay."

Instantly a banner reading Congratulations Harry and Ron unfurled from the ceiling, scattering confetti.

The hall exploded.

"WHAT?!" Hermione cried, confetti in her hair.

"They have, in fact, been sharing a bed all summer!" Dumbledore continued.

Everywhere there were exclamations of shock and disbelief, hissing whispers, movement, even catcalls. I looked helplessly at Ron. Ron stared back in horrified shock. This couldn't be happening. I must have misheard — there was no way Dumbledore would have...

"A bit of a surprise eh?" Dumbledore smiled sagely. "But I think you boys will thank me later for saving you from the anguish of coming out to your peers on your own. And now, let's feast to the coming year!"

No one was listening to Dumbledore. No one cared about dinner. They were all staring at the Gryffindor table where Ron and I were still standing — I felt as if my knees were permanently locked.

From down the table Colin Creevey's shrill voice carried over the hubbub, "Did you hear that, Dennis?! Now's my chance! HARRY! HARRY! Look over here Harry! I'm gay too! What are you doing Friday night?! Harry!"

 

I woke suddenly. The panic and embarrassment still gripped me for a moment — but then came the rush of relief that comes from waking after a terrifying dream.

The house was very quiet and still. Judging by the faint bluish glow out the window it was nearly dawn. I drew closer to the sleeping Ron, trying to shake the last lingering feelings of the dream.

But there was another reason that I felt a dull sense of dread. Today we would board the Hogwarts Express and summer would officially come to an end. I'd never had such mixed emotions about going back to school. I loved Hogwarts like a home, except that now The Burrow felt like home too. And going to Hogwarts would mean facing certain unpleasant aspects of reality.

I tried to take these last moments of comfort and savor them, stretch them out and make them last an eternity. Here I was in Ron's room — in Ron's bed no less — in the home of a real family who actually cared for me and wanted me to be there.

A few stars still shone outside faintly. The morning air coming in the wide-open window was chilly, but Ron was warm. I didn't want to leave. This had been the best summer of my life.

I didn't know how to make the transition back to school. I had changed over the past few weeks, ever since that one confused night when I and Ron had held each other and told ourselves it was ok to express how we really felt. But privacy was hard to find at The Burrow so our relationship hadn't moved beyond kissing and a few tender touches. There was a real possibility of being walked in on at any time by one of Ron's family. It was frustrating and yet bittersweet. I wouldn't have traded the Weasleys for anything, but I wanted private time to spend with the person I loved.

Things would only be worse at Hogwarts. Sharing a room with three other boys, in a school where almost everyone knew Ron and I, right under bright Hermione's nose there would be no privacy at all. Surely, someone would catch on.

"What are we going to tell Hermione?" I had asked Ron a few days before.

"What are you going to tell Ginny?" Ron had fired back, pointedly.

Discussing such matters made Ron sulky and irritable, so I hadn't really had a chance to work out with Ron how we were going to handle our relationship.

Our remaining time was ticking away. I clutched a handful of Ron's pajamas and laid my head against Ron's chest.

 

Two uneventful weeks had passed since school started. I was surrounded by my friends again. Quidditch practices were right around the corner and the team this year looked like it was going to be bloody awesome. There were early morning wake-ups and homework and classes and meals in the Great Hall and late nights hunched over books in front of the fire and a whole new batch of first years who couldn't keep their eyes away from my scar... constant bustle and attention and people.

And I was miserable. Happy and miserable.

I felt even lonelier than I'd felt in my friendless days with the Dursleys. It was a bit like the time Ron and I hadn't spoken for a while after a big fight — but then I'd had a sort of stubborn anger to fuel me.

Ron was at my side day and night now, but I felt so far away from him. I could meet his eyes and see the longing there. I could sit next to him at breakfast, so close our knees and shoulders touched, but there was a boundary between us that we had to observe because there were always eyes on us. I had been through enough verbal torture from my classmates in the past — my popularity swung dramatically from positive to negative over the littlest things with this group — and I wasn't about to risk Ron going through all of that — the shunning and the teasing and the whispers — just because people suspected we were gay.

"If only we could get some private time," Ron whispered in my ear, after I had kissed him over his Astronomy book while Neville was in the bathroom one night. It was only our second kiss since we'd been back.

 

Hermione hadn't missed the subtle nuances in our behavior even though we both tried hard to act normal around her. It wasn't long before Hermione caught up to me in the hall and read some questions quickly off a roll of parchment — was I experiencing any eating or sleeping changes? Any sad feelings? And thoughts of hurting myself?

I bit back a laugh but it escaped anyway. I couldn't help it — she was just being so predictable. She glared at me.

"I'm not depressed, Hermione. I'm actually very happy," I smiled at her, trying to keep things light so she wouldn't see the ache in my eyes. "I'm back at Hogwarts with everyone, whatever horrible and evil things are going to happen to me this year haven't started yet, oh and look, they're serving chocolate parfaits for dessert tonight -- shall we go eat now? But really, I'm fine."

She looked at me as though I were a discolored potion and she didn't know which ingredient had been wrong. "Well, it just seems like you and Ron haven't been yourselves," she said hesitantly. "I can't put my finger on it but you seem down. But it sounded like you had such a great summer."

"We did," I said, truthfully. "Maybe... maybe we're just having a little trouble readjusting to everything here after that," I shrugged. "Honestly. Shall we go have dinner, then?"

We walked toward the Great Hall. I adored Hermione, I really did. And I was deeply grateful, but how could I explain — I had Ron at my side as my best friend, instead of as my lover. Aside from the truth of our relationship being difficult and painful for Hermione and Ginny, I felt I couldn't divulge anything without Ron's permission. And Ron had blatantly avoided any and all discussions about coming out to our friends and his family. How could I tell her that even now as we walked together my eyes were searching the streams of students around us for the glint of red hair.

 

One night in the Common Room, Ron mutely dropped a book into my lap, then plopped onto the sofa next to me.

"What's this?" I asked.

Ron shrugged vaguely, his ears pink, his eyes on the unicorns in the tapestries.

I inspected the book. It looked like nothing more than an old book of medium-easy spells. I recognized a few here and there — all in all they looked pretty harmless — spells to find lost items, basic good luck charms, spells for household cleaning and the like.

"Ron?" I asked again, confused.

"Um... look at this one," Ron muttered and flipped the book to a page marked with a feather, without making eye contact. The page was titled 'Dream Sharing.' I read, fascinated, as the book explained a spell to allow two people to share a dream. The potion required common ingredients and was easy to make, but as the book apologetically explained, the spell wouldn't work unless both parties had the right mindsets. They had to have strong wills and a deep understanding of each other for it to be successful.

I looked up at Ron when I finished reading. Ron was fiddling with his shoelace. "Oh..." I said in an 'I get it' kind of voice.

"I, er, thought we might try that spell," Ron said, still blushing.

"Ron, that's..." I grinned slowly, "a bloody brilliant idea."

Ron finally met my eyes and smiled.

 

The potion was easy to make — Ron and I attempted it a few nights later when our homework was done and Hermione was in the library. And it would easily be passed off as work for Potions if anyone noticed us. At the end of a half hour we were pouring a violet, sweet smelling liquid into small vials and grinning madly at each other.

As soon as we were safely in our own beds and the room was dark and still, we each drank the potion. I laid back, the empty vial hidden under my pillow. I didn't know exactly what to expect, but my heart was beating fast and I was grinning like a Cheshire cat in the dark. Finally Ron and I would have absolute privacy. Even though it would only be a dream, dreams could feel real.

If only I could get to sleep.

My pillow was just too hard and lumpy, no matter how many times I fluffed it. And my feet just wouldn't get warm, and the longer I laid there and thought about how I should be asleep and how Ron was probably waiting for me already and how late it was getting. I just couldn't sleep. And couldn't sleep.

Until, sometime in the early morning, I finally fell into a deep dreamless sleep of dead exhaustion. I was still groggy and grumpy when an equally sour-faced Ron shook me awake for breakfast.

Damn.

But soon we had another chance to brew the potion and I made sure to get good and exhausted from Quidditch practice. Before we knew it, it was night and we were in our pajamas with corked vials of the Dream Sharing potion under our pillows. Neville, Dean and Seamus had gone to brush their teeth and I stood next to Ron, who was sitting on his bed.

"Tonight for sure," I whispered, then bent and gave Ron a quick hug that flowed gracefully into a loose-lipped kiss against his throat with a gentle hand running from chest to cheek to hair.

I stepped back and our shining eyes locked. And both of us got into our own beds.

 

It was pouring irreverently on me. I looked straight up at the clouds and gave them the same look that I gave Hermione whenever she began to prattle on about something boring. But the rain just struck my face, shockingly cold and spattered on my glasses and soaked through my robes.

There was a high, gray stone wall of a castle at my side, but it offered no protection from the weather and no entrance. Frustrated, I slipped along through the mud, following the wall, searching for a door or archway. I just wanted to get inside — just wanted to find Ron.

"Harry!"

I looked up, my heart leaping. Ron's hair gleamed through the raindrops from a high window.

"What are you doing? Come in!"

I grinned. "Ok! Only, where's the door?"

Ron turned and fiddled with something and a door suddenly swung open in the stone wall in front of me. I ducked inside, half-running as I kicked off my muddy shoes, through a cavernous entryway as I shook droplets from my hair and at last into a gorgeous, plush-carpeted room.

Ron ambushed me, hot lips against my cold ones, before I knew what was happening. I couldn't contain my smile enough to kiss back properly, but I knew Ron understood.

"Good to be out of the rain, isn't it?" Ron asked conversationally, brushing my wet fringe out of my eyes and wiping away the droplets that trickled down my face like tears.

"Most definitely," I replied. The room was warm and there was a roaring fire in the fireplace, but all I could see was Ron, hot and brilliant and vibrant like the sun. My heart rate accelerated.

"Well, come on then," Ron said quietly, "out of these wet things." He gently took off my glasses and set them aside, then unclasped my cloak which fell heavily to the floor.

Bolder, more sure of himself that I had ever seen him before, Ron half-lead and half-carried the me to the sofa by the fireplace and then pulled me down onto his lap. Ron didn't even seem to care that his clothes were getting damp with rain from mine. He just took charge, unknotting my tie and pulling off my soaked sweater, and then warming my chilly cheeks and chin and neck with his hands and lips and tongue.

I melted against Ron's chest, his hands making warming circles on my thighs and back. I lazily kissed his neck and then poked at it with my tongue. Ron unbuttoned the damp shirt and helped me take it off, then threw it aside hastily as though punishing it for coming between us.

Hazel eyes, tender and intense, met mine. I bridged the gap between us, kissing Ron forcefully and thrusting my tongue against his. A murmur of desire and pleasure came from him as his hands kneaded my bare back, and I, in response moved my hands up into Ron's hair and pulled him closer.

 

"Are they still asleep?"

"Breakfast is almost over!"

"Breakfast — that's nothing! They're going to miss Potions if we don't get them up!"

"Harry... Harry!"

I opened my eyes lazily to see Seamus standing over me. From the next bed over I could hear Dean and Neville trying to talk Ron into getting out of bed. Ron pulled the pillow over his head.

"It's almost time for class, Harry!" Seamus said. "It's bad enough the way Snape takes points away from you for — just for being alive! Don't give him another reason!"

"Ok, ok, I'm up," I muttered.

"Jeez," Seamus muttered walking away. I stretched hugely and watched in amusement as Neville and Dean yanked at Ron's pillow. Under the threat of Snape's vindictiveness, I would usually be hurrying, but right now I still felt warm and sleepy and utterly unconcerned about anything. It'd been a very good sleep, to say the least.

I laughed at Ron, who had lost the battle at last and sat up with his hair sticking in all directions and looking grumpy at the world. That is, until his eyes met mine. Then he smiled, a heartfelt, secretive smile. I smiled back.

"Come on you two! Out of bed! You can't still be sleepy!"

"A little," I said, as Ron yawned in agreement. "But — you know Ron — we could always take a nap later."

"That sounds like an excellent idea to me, Harry."

His eyes sparkled mischievously as our irritated classmates walked out the door.


	6. Ron's Room

I hardly had the door shut behind us when he rounded on me, kissing me roughly. I let out a small, muffled grunt of surprise and longing, dropping my bags and feeling my back hit the door. No one can barge in on us as long as I can feel that the door us shut behind us, I managed to think somehow, as Harry attacked me.

We were back in my room at the Burrow, back where this had all began. It was the first day of the Christmas break, and we'd just arrived. I could hear my brothers still carrying their bags up the stairs on the other side of the door.

Harry had told Ginny, in a very nice way, that he was interested in someone else, and I had helped by strongly hinting that it was Cho. Ginny seemed to have accepted that and had backed off, so he wouldn't feel confused or guilty because of her, I hoped.

Harry and I slid down until we wound up sitting on the floor, my bag halfway uncomfortably under my leg, my other bent knee against his thigh. He had his glasses in one hand to keep them out of the way, and the other was pinning my wrist back against the door.

I couldn't blame him. We had found ways of getting some time together at Hogwarts, mainly with the dream potions. They worked great, but they weren't quite the same as actually physically being together. They took off the edge, that's all. But despite everything we had done in them, we were still, in a physical sense, both technically virgins.

I didn't think we would be when we went back after the holiday. The Burrow wasn't very good for privacy, but we'd be sharing my room. As desperate as we were for each other, and with the initial shyness and uncertainty of last summer gone...

"Ron," he gasped, his voice cracking with intensity, as he moved his mouth up my jawline.

Merlin! Hearing him say my name like that! It sent an erotic sort of shock through me.

"This is better isn't it?" he whispered into my ear, lips brushing it.

"Much better," I gasped. I was grinning like an idiot. Harry wasn't usually this direct. It was incredibly hot.

He worked my earlobe as I shifted into a slightly more comfortable position, trying and failing to move my bag. The corner of a spell book or something was jabbing me. I moved my head a little, so that I could touch my tongue to his neck.

But, over the sounds of Harry breathing in my ear, I thought I heard footsteps. Then, someone rapped on the door behind me and Mum's voice called "Boys?"

I whispered a curse, then called back, "Just a sec, Mum!" as we untangled ourselves.

He got off me, awkwardly and put his glasses back on. I stood up to find my foot was asleep, but tried to ignore it as I moved our bags away from the door.

I paused with my hand on the doorknob and glanced at Harry to make sure it was safe to open the door. He was sitting on my bed trying to straighten his hair. He nodded and I opened the door.

"I've brought up Harry's bed!" Mum said brightly, walking in with a folded camp bed and a few blankets.

"Ah, thanks Mum!" I said, rushing around to make room for it and set it up, hoping that if I kept busy enough she wouldn't notice that anything funny was going on. If she looked right at me, I knew she'd see a guilty look in my eyes. I'm awful at hiding things from her.

"Well!" Mum said, when we had the bed made up. "There you are, Harry!" She glanced at Harry and I said a prayer that she didn't see what I saw. His lips so adorably red from kissing, his hair mussed. Something about him indescribably aware and heightened.

But she just glanced around at me and said, "You're both very quiet tonight. You must be tired from your trip. Get some rest before supper."

"Uh. Uh, thanks Mum," I said.

"Thanks," Harry said.

She left, shutting the door again behind her.

Harry and I were frozen for a second, looking at the shut door, as if she might come back in. Then we looked at each other.

"I can't take this!" I said, falling backwards onto my bed next to Harry. "Do you think she knew? I don't know how she didn't notice anything."

"I don't think she noticed," he said, twisting around to look at me.

"This is gonna be hard. If we get caught..." I groaned and put my hand over my eyes.

He bent down and gave me a quick kiss, just under my mouth. "We won't."

"Maybe after graduation we could get a place together?" I said, fingering his hair nervously.

His hands tightened around my back. "I'd like that."

I breathed out a sigh of relief. "Just us. We wouldn't have to worry about getting caught or interrupted like this. You know, I wouldn't have to sneak around like this if you were a girl!"

He gaped at me. "If I were a girl, your mum would never let me sleep in your room!"

"Oh yeah, that's right," I said, sheepishly. Why do I always say such stupid things?

"Thanks a lot. You really wish I was a girl?" he asked, sounding wounded.

Did I? It had been a little hard to sort out my feelings of being attracted to a boy at first. I'd never told Harry about that, or about the recurring dreams I'd had about a female version of him last summer. But the woman in those dreams turned into him, it had all become clear to me.

"No," I said, firmly, and pulled him down to lie next to me. "No. I want you exactly how you are. I love you how you are."

His lips curled into a smile against mine.


End file.
